


That Thing You Like

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Sherlock, Johnlockary - Freeform, Light BDSM, Multi, Sex Toys, idk how else to put that haha, sherlock participates in sex without requiring reciprocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is asexual, but that doesn't mean he isn't welcome in John and Mary's bed. And for his birthday he's bought himself a special surprise for his lovers...</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Thing You Like

Sherlock is a bird of prey perched on the room’s solitary chair, his knees drawn up to his chest and his elbows sticking out like bony, underfeathered wings. He’s dressed in his new black brocade dressing-gown with its elegant, Gothic-inspired skull motif, a present from Mary for his birthday; it only adds to the aura of brooding, of looming over them. Mary thinks he looks like a newly-hatched chick trying to puff himself up to adult size, but that’s probably just the position he’s contorted himself into. That and the tuft of stray curl sticking out at the top of his head.

On the bed, John is reclining against the pillows, naked but for the scrap of black silk blindfolding him. The belt from Sherlock’s dressing gown, she realizes. His arms are up, wrists tied loosely to the rungs of the headboard. A veritable feast. Mary puts her hands on her hips.

“I thought it was _your_ birthday today, Sherlock.”

“It is.” Sherlock extends one long, lily-white hand to her. When she's near enough, he rests it on the curve of her hip and lifts his head up to be kissed. She stifles a smile at the vision of a baby bird begging for food, and accepts. “Speaking of,” he says against her mouth, and something hard and smooth is pushed into her hand. “I got this for myself. With Mycroft’s card.”

His smirk is utterly wicked, and Mary can’t help the peal of laughter that rises in her. “You are incredibly inappropriate, Sherlock Holmes.” She examines the dildo interestedly. It’s transparent black plastic, shaped fairly realistically, sans any other fixture but a thin ring around the base for attachment to a harness. When she squeezes, there’s the slightest give to the surface.

On the bed, John shifts impatiently. “Well, what is it? Don’t leave me in the dark.”

Sherlock and Mary snort in unison, and then burst out laughing. “Your puns are terrible, darling,” Mary tells him, and turns back to Sherlock. “Well?”

He stands, forcing her to move away. But he follows her, stalking her, his dressing gown swirling around his ankles. His eyes are hot and piercing, and he almost looks as if he’s planning to devour her whole. But instead he swoops in for another kiss, a casual swipe of tongue, damp and shallow. Warm, fond, even adoring. But the bite and heat she’s come to expect from John is absent. She puts a hand on his chest, testing, and he only smiles down at her, as eager and mischievous as a boy.

“Want me to get him ready?” she whispers.

“No, that’s all right. I brought gloves.” He produces them from a pocket and snaps them on efficiently. Not the sexiest image in the world, but then, John is blindfolded and Sherlock isn’t looking to get off. “Lube it up for me, darling.”

A snort from the bed. “Now I’m _really_ curious. My imagination is running wild.”

Sherlock chuckles and climbes up onto the mattress. “Let me guess: you’re picturing Mary spreading KY Jelly on my flaccid penis with a rubber spatula.”

Mary chokes with laughter, and Sherlock pushes John’s legs apart gently to settle between them pretzel-style. “That is something I can safely say I’ll never attempt,” she says, wrist twisting with delightful symmetry as she spreads and warms the lube over the dildo. “Catch, love.”

Sherlock catches the pot neatly one-handed and rubs some of the stuff between gloved fingers. “Brace yourself,” he murmurs, and runs one finger lightly along the seam of John’s arse. John twitches away instinctively, and settles.

“Mm. Feels nice.”

Without replying, Sherlock finds the bud of John’s arsehole and massages. John exhales slowly, arms twitching. One leg slips up to rest across the fold of Sherlock’s knee, opening him up even wider. Sherlock smiles and breaches him.

“Ungh. Yes.”

Mary licks her lips and sits on the edge of the bed to watch. She’s still masturbating the toy absently, but at Sherlock’s silent nod, she boosts herself up onto her knees and slides the tip of it down between her legs. “Oooh. That’s nice.”

A shadow of a smile flickers across Sherlock’s face. “Has a good feel?”

“Very nice. _Ahhh_. Christ John, you’re going to love this.”

John’s mouth is firmly shut, but his nostrils flare at the assurance. Sherlock and Mary watch as his half-hard cock plumps further, the beat of his heart echoed in the thick vein winding along the underside. Sherlock twists his wrist, working deeper, and John gasps. His cock stiffens right before their eyes, flushing hot and slick where the head slips further from the foreskin. Mary licks her lips and swallows.

“Go on then,” Sherlock whispers. His voice is so low it’s becoming gravelly. “Have a taste.”

A tiny moan works itself from John’s throat at the words. Mary can’t resist. Letting the pressure of her thighs keep the dildo hard up against her where she wants it, she leans down and lets her tongue rasp along her husband’s prick, head tilted to keep Sherlock’s view unobstructed. At the top, she works her tongue along the head and into the slit, tasting just a scrap of bitter salt.

“Mmh.” John turns his head against the pillow, lips a thin line. “Nnng.”

Mary strokes the underside of his cock lightly with a forefinger. “It’s okay, baby, you can make noise.”

“If we’d wanted you quiet, we would have gagged you,” Sherlock adds carelessly. The heavy throb of John’s prick, the beat of his pulse in his throat, is telling. “Maybe next time, hmmm? Would you like that?”

Mary answers for him. “I don’t think it’s the gag that turns him on. I think it’s being forced to keep silent, and having to do it himself. Under his own willpower.” She licks again, and again, and oh, John is panting through his nose now, mouth resolutely shut.

“Enough, Mary.” Sherlock’s words are clipped but not unkind. He has two fingers deep inside John’s body now, and the thumb of his other hand working the rim and perineum. “Let me have it. No, wait. Put it inside you, first.”

Mary sits back on her heels. “More lube?”

“Please.”

With her tongue between her teeth, she leans back a little and grabs the base firmly, working the body of it up into her. Divine. Sherlock’s eyes are firmly on the motion of the dildo, the slickness of it as it moves in and out of her, the stretch of her cunt around its breadth. It’s a little slimmer than John, but not by much, and its pronounced ridges feel nice against her G-spot. But before she can get too deep, Sherlock holds out his hand.

“Perfect. Thank you, Mary.” When she leans closer, he darts in to kiss her cheek just once. He’s faintly flushed as he passes the dildo under his nose, inhaling, and Mary just wants to gobble him up. Ah, well. She glances at the dildo and thinks of Sherlock strapping it on over his skin-tight boxers, letting her kneel between his feet and suck on it until she’s raw. Sherlock catches her eyes and smirks. “Maybe next time.”

“Fuck, yes,” she murmurs. She can’t help kissing him again, just once, before settling back to watch, her hand drooping comfortably between her thighs.

John is twitching and shuddering, but he stills when he feels the head of the dildo nudging at his entrance. He draws his knees up and back instinctively. “God, Sherlock. God. Fuck.”

“Mmm, there is it,” growls Sherlock. “Can’t keep quiet anymore, can you?” He braces his left hand on John’s inner thigh, the blue of the latex glove nearly neon-bright against that white skin. The dildo is dark in comparison as it presses, retreats, pushes up and gently pulls back. Mary has an excellent view of John’s hole stretching around the head and closing again as Sherlock teases him with it, each time a little slower, a little more slack. John inhales sharply.

“Sherlock please. Please, god, I want it. I want it.” His voice is a whisper, hardly audible, and it makes Mary throb to her very core. She cups herself hard, smoothing two fingers up and down the soft, slick patch between clitoris and vaginal opening.

“All right then, Sherlock,” she says softly. “I want to see you fuck him.”

John sobs aloud, and Sherlock slowly presses inward, in and out, deeper this time, until his fingers around the base are knuckled up into John’s perineum. John’s balls are drawn up tight, and his prick is purpling with blood flow. Mary pants and works her fingers harder.

“Are you close?” Sherlock asks. It’s a rhetorical question. John’s clearly at the end of his rope. His fingers are claws in the sheets, and nearly every plane of his body shines with sweat. A speckled sex-flush is flooding down his chest. Sherlock rocks the dildo in and out of him, slowly, never quite drawing out or pushing back in. Just an easy back-and-forth that Mary knows is rubbing along John’s prostate in just the right way.

“A little harder now, Sherlock, just a little. Circling.”

He obeys her, for a wonder. John cries out. Mary sits up for a better view, and Sherlock leans forward, eyes wide and pupil-dark. John’s abdomen contracts, and his teeth dig angry white furrows into his bottom lip. With his head pressed back into the pillow, his neck and shoulders clench, and his pelvic region twitches and tightens as his cock finally thickens, hardens just a little bit more, and a thick spatter of semen shoots from it and lands across his belly in a mismatched constellation. John bellows, and his entire body shudders as another spurt emerges, and another, and then finally a weak dribble that forms a fine white line from his prick to his navel. A few more aftershocks shake him, wreck him, and he finally goes limp.

“Jesus Christ.” Mary has been frozen, but with the end of his orgasm comes the beginning of hers. She curls her fingers just so, grinds the heel of her palm into her clit, and comes hard.

When she returns to herself, Sherlock is gently withdrawing the dildo from John’s body and whispering words of encouragement. He nuzzles a kiss into John’s inner knee and crawls free of the bed. While he’s in the loo, Mary crawls up John’s body and unties his hands. He pushes up the blindfold and smiles dazzlingly at her.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Hey there gorgeous.” She kisses him, wet and dirty. “Did you enjoy that?”

John huffs a weak laugh. “What do you think, love? I’m going to need at least an hour to be able to function after that.” He kisses her again. “Where’s our resident genius?”

“Here.” Sherlock crawls back into bed, stripped to pants and a tee, wet flannel in hand. When John has been wiped down, he flings it into a corner and collapses against his side.

“That was fantastic,” John whispers, catching Sherlock’s hand in his. “Thank you.”

“Mm, my pleasure. Figuratively speaking.” Sherlock rubs his face against John’s shoulder, humming. “Thank you for allowing it.”

John sighs, smiling, and lifts the hand to kiss the back of it. “It was my privilege.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know there's a plethora of Sherlock being on the ace spectrum but still somehow participating in sex. I hope this respects his lack of interest in having sex himself while still enjoying an active role in it. I imagine him to enjoy physical contact, but he doesn't like overly sexual touching or having anyone but himself come in direct contact with his penis (thus the spatula joke).


End file.
